


Spidey Ropes and Rides

by clouder (selfinduced)



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Crossover Pairing, M/M, tail!porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/clouder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blue man grins, wide, rows of endless white teeth on blue, gives a slight, gallant bow. "Kurt Wagner. At your service."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spidey Ropes and Rides

**Author's Note:**

> Fic for my livelongnmarry recipient. Rare-paring, kink, tail!porn, as requested. This was actually very interesting to do because of how unusual a request it was (for me, anyway!) and whenever I get confused about being able to write characters/elements totally new to me, I think I'll look back on this.

He’s been tracking Jimmy the Saw for weeks now, and it’s been like an acid trip in how it seems to keep getting more and more complicated. First it looks as if he’s just dealing smalltime in Brooklyn, then it’s linked to arms, and possibly to a nation-wide net that seems to be getting bigger every second, and Peter really doesn’t have time or resources to travel out of NY for this superhero stuff.

When Jameson sent him to North Salem for Xavier’s first-ever press junket as photographer-aide-lackey to Tim Lott, Peter had been shocked at such a big assignment before he realized it was simply because everyone else was too afraid to go to a school of mutants. The irony amused him and the pay was a lot more than his usual freelance pieces, and all in all, it looked like a piece of cake. Lott was an easygoing enough man, not the brightest crayon in the box, but not one to actively make Pete’s life more miserable than it had to be.

What Peter didn’t expect was to be on the clock for both jobs, until they literally bumped into Jimmy at the airport, spider sense jangling all up his spine, going ape-shit. As Peter Parker, he had to stick with the reporter, looking nerdy behind his camera, and couldn’t prove anything anyway, though he’d bet something came along with Jimmy on that plane.

By the time Lott was safely asleep in their four-star room—paid for by Xavier’s, of course, not like the Bugle would ever treat its reporters so well—and Spiderman could go out to investigate, it was fairly late. Mutants weren’t immune to jet-lag, Peter discovers, crawling inside the roof of the warehouse he’d followed Jimmy to and finding a beam to hang off of so he can get close enough to listen.

Peter reminds himself to work on some surveillance tech. His view from up here is pretty good, but the place is huge and the closest perch he can get undetected is far enough away that he can’t really hear a thing, just try to make out lip-movement. He’s focusing so hard when he thinks a big name is about to be thrown out that he doesn’t notice his web is being cut away by the sharp edge of the beam he’s attached to and next thing he knows, he’s…in the arms of a large…blue…man.

“Um…?”

The Blue Man tilts his head, and smiles politely before putting him on his feet. Which is nice because Peter was starting to worry about the whole damsel-in-distress position; speaking of which, the man definitely looked like he could be the guy on the cover of a romance novel with his nipples showing. Except for the blue thing. And the fur. And the…tail?

He’s really glad the mask hides his expressions because he wouldn’t want to seem offensive or anything. “Hi. Spiderman.” He extends his hand, “Thanks for the catch. Didn’t realize I was—“ he waves a hand vaguely at the ceiling beam with its treacherously sharp edge. “—Anyway, yeah, really good you were here to, you know.”

The blue man grins, wide, rows of endless white teeth on blue, gives a slight, gallant bow. “Kurt Wagner. At your service.”

“Yeah?” Peter tilts his head towards the warehouse, “and not theirs?”

“I believe, we are here for the same reason.” The man continues to smile that unnervingly charming smile. Which is, yeah, unnerving. Also, there should be like, a superhero handshake or something. “I am here on behalf of Xavier’s academy.”

“From—but you weren’t—oh” he smiles his most charming, “You’re one of the instructors, who sometimes uses a holo-suit.”

“Only when necessary, these days.” More of that damn smile, which wasn’t attractive at all. Really. _Focus, Parker_, he told himself.

“So what do you know about this group? I’ve been following the tall one, Jimmy, from New York… The more I follow him, the more I get the feeling that this is bigger than just a plain drug train.”

“You are correct. These people seem to be smuggling a substance that in addition to being highly addictive and intoxicating, seems to prematurely trigger latent mutant abilities.”

“Huh. So that’s—I was suspecting something more but—“ Peter stops babbling before he comes across as a total newbie in front of the veteran.

“We suspect that the U.S. Government—or at least certain members of it—are involved.”

“Okay—that’s—wow. But uh,” Peter gets interrupted as Kurt shoves him into the shadow behind some crates.

“My apologies, they were fast approaching and will soon be within normal hearing range. I can get us out of here but I would much prefer to hear their conversation.”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it again, nodding and giving a thumbs up, and feels ridiculous and off-balance. They’re pressed really close together, and Kurt’s hair is really, amazingly soft, and he smells inexplicably good and this is _so_ the wrong time to be noticing something like this. He’s just not used to working with anyone in such close quarters. That must be it.

-

The night turns out a bust. Jimmy and his cohorts exit quickly and all go their separate ways, and Kurt politely offers Peter a ride home. Peter laughs with the newness of it, but there aren’t enough buildings around here to make slinging his way between them a suitable mode of transportation, and a cab would be difficult this time of night in a town that does sleep. Kurt is also trustworthy in a way that he’s just not used to with his abilities.

“Yeah, actually, that would be—thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Kurt steps up close and puts his arms around Peter, “Where to?”

“The clocktower downtown? I figure you probably need to have been there before to —teleport? That’s what you did earlier, right?”

“Yes.” Up close, Peter can feel the thrum of vibrations accompanying that rich voice with rolled r’s. German? Something like it. It distracts him from how easily he’s letting some strange man wrap his arms all warm and safe around him. Pete’s tired and his bed back at the hotel is empty, as his bed always is wherever he is these days, and it’s just—it’s nice.

“You smell really good.” He blurts out, yawning into Kurt’s neck, and feels vaguely mortified. “I mean, it’s not that I” he coughs, “it’s the smell of the drug, I think. They always have it in stuff that smells like that.

They reappear on the roof of the clocktower.

“Ah.” Kurt says, face impossible to read. “You are tired. We may investigate that tomorrow. I believe that is your hotel.” He points and grabs Peter in his arms again without so much as a by-your-leave and teleports them there. He should possibly be more alarmed at being so easily predicted.

“Uhh.”

“It is alright. I can tell who you are from your scent. You were there during the press meetings earlier today.”

Before Pete can come up with a properly deflecting response to that, he disappears.

Reappears, closer, something warm and soft and wistful brushing against his mouth, and disappears again.

Well then.

-

Lott focuses on the younger mutants almost exclusively the next day, which seems to be the school’s goal as well, so everything works out, except that Peter is left surreptitiously looking around everywhere to see if he can spot Kurt.

Finally, having wandered into the gardens for some shots of the beautiful courtyard, he runs into the man, curled up under a tree, reading a book and eating an apple. It suddenly occurs to Peter that he may not even be recognized.

“Hello, again.” Kurt is suddenly a lot closer, right side up, and in broad daylight, his skin is fascinating as well as beautiful.

“I was just, uh” Peter holds up his camera, waving it around, “You know. It’s really beautiful here.”

“Yes.” Kurt smiles again, voice warm. “Would you like a tour?”

Peter tries to not look like a complete geek. “Could we?”

-

He likes the blackbirds the best, he thinks, wistfully trailing his fingers over the shiny black of its exterior.

Kurt doesn’t ask him anything about his background, only says, “We may bring it as transportation tonight."

Peter tries not to be too obvious about the schoolboy glee on his face.

-  
It takes him until they’re about to head back out to the basketball court to catch Kurt’s wrist, making him breathe out sharp, unable to break the silence. Thankfully, Kurt doesn’t seem to need words, instantly in his space, cupping his face and devouring his mouth. Peter gives into the need to touch that warm, still inordinately good-smelling skin, grab handfuls of soft, blue hair.

“I, uhn.” His head thunks back against the wall behind him as Kurt’s— _fangs_—bite into the hollow of his neck and a hand slips inside his pants. “Yeah. Okay.” He gasps, thrusting up into the large thumb stroking his cock and back into the—oh man. The tail? That’s got to be the tail because the man is totally in front of him and so can’t be behind him as well but it feels exactly like—mmm—fitting into the cleft of his ass. “Oh. Sweet. Jesus.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Kurt chuckles into his ear, licking into it, entirely too smug.

Peter kisses back hard and deep before flipping them so he has Kurt against the wall, using little webs to keep his wrists up above his head, “Sorry, I know you’re all into the religion thing and all, I just, God, look at you.” Peter runs his palms up beneath Kurt’s shirt, watching Kurt arch up under his touch, eyes going slitted and dark. He unbuttons the shirt, stopping to kiss the skin after each button, licking past Kurt’s navel and unbuckling his slacks. Kurt is breathing hard, flushing almost violet on his cheeks.

“Please.” His tail comes out to stroke Peter again, up the inside of his thigh this time, over the bulge in his jeans.

“Oh, fuck, keep doing that and I won’t be able to,” Peter drops to his knees mouths his way along Kurt’s dick, undoing his own fly with one hand. The tail soon works its way into his boxers, stroking him, wrapping around him, jerking him, warm and smooth and soft and bizarrely, insanely, hot. He loses himself in it, thrusting blindly as his works his mouth, not sure of when Kurt comes or when he does and who’s first.

“You know, I have a perfectly nice room. Upstairs somewhere. With a bed.”

Peter laughs, kissing the side of Kurt’s thigh, rubbing his cheek against the light fur, infinitely softer than normal human male body-hair.

“I don’t have anywhere else to be until later tonight.”

-

“There.” He points back at a room to their left.

“I have already looked there.”

“No, really, I have a—um, uh, spidersense..” he trails off, ending in a mumble, ears heating up, “And it’s telling me something’s about to happen soon.” He points at the crates farthest to their left, “Those.”

Guards rush out at them, with government-issue weapons that he makes a note to save as evidence. They’re no match for Peter and Kurt together, of course, but it takes a minute before they can web them up into one nicely contained unit. Peter pauses for a second to admire his handy-work.

“Hmm.” Kurt is bounding towards the crates and grabbing a wrench out of nowhere with his tail to open one.

“Paydirt.” Peter stares in awe.

Inside are military-stamped emergency rations, MREs, all smelling of the x-gene-enhancing drug.

-

For such an ugly story, it all gets tied up fairly well, and Peter considers asking for his first byline, but sticks to providing the best photos of Spiderman and Nightcrawler capturing the baddies to corroborate Lott’s first front-page article.

“Spiderman? Here? Are you sure?”

“Don’t look at me, I just take pictures.”

“Spiderman.” Lott looks dazedly out their hotel window as if expecting mutants to come bounding in any second, “huh.”

-

“I have to, um, you know.”

Kurt tilts his head in that quietly eloquent way he does.

“But you could visit.”

“New York.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s kind of far—”

“Perhaps. It has been a while since I have traveled for pleasure.”

“Yeah?”

“I am fairly certain the others would look well on my taking some leave.”

Peter swallows and nods quickly. “Okay, yeah.”

“New York.” Kurt says softly, gazing at the fountain arcing brightly in the sun.


End file.
